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<title>𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝑀𝑢𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑂𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝐸𝑥𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠 by Adrenalineshots, sonshineandshowers, TheFibreWitch</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26505796">𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝑀𝑢𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑂𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝐸𝑥𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrenalineshots/pseuds/Adrenalineshots'>Adrenalineshots</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers'>sonshineandshowers</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFibreWitch/pseuds/TheFibreWitch'>TheFibreWitch</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Domino 🁡 [49]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Case Fic, Digital Art, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hallucinations, Harassment, Health Emergency, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mental Health Issues, Metafiction, Murder Mystery, Nightmares, No Real Death, Surrealism, Trauma, Unreliable Narrator, Video, a lot of really strange stuff that happens in altered states of consciousness, anxiousness, major and minor character death in an altered state of consciousness, reader-driven</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:27:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,417</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26505796</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrenalineshots/pseuds/Adrenalineshots, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFibreWitch/pseuds/TheFibreWitch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Selecting 𝑀𝑢𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑂𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝐸𝑥𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠 from the bookshelf, Malcolm travels through his own mind.</p><p>Read this story at: <a href="https://www.thedominostory.com/#murder-on-the-orient-express">https://www.thedominostory.com/#murder-on-the-orient-express</a></p><p>This book is one part of the Domino series. If you have not yet read the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64577434#workskin">Preface</a> or <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588537#workskin">Introduction</a>, please head there first.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gil Arroyo/Jessica Whitly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Domino 🁡 [49]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926451</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Domino 🁡, Prodigal Son Big Bang 2020 - Saturday Posts</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝑀𝑢𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑂𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝐸𝑥𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/gifts">Jameena</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/gifts">MissScorp</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/gifts">ProcrastinatingSab</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/685426">Murder on the Orient Express</a> by Agatha Christie.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This book is one part of the Domino series. If you have not yet read the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64577434#workskin">Preface</a> or <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588537#workskin">Introduction</a>, please head there first.</p><p>Betaed by the wonderful <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/">Jameena</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/">MissScorp</a>, and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/">ProcrastinatingSab</a>.</p><p>Credit to the creators and their works that inspired and were referenced in this work:<br/><b>— Inspiration: </b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Murder_on_the_Orient_Express">Murder on the Orient Express</a> - Agatha Christie<br/><b>— Cover Song: </b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ZgjmE6xdaw">A Little Party Never Killed Nobody (All We Got)</a> - Fergie [feat. Q-Tip, GoonRock]<br/><b>— Assets: </b><a href="https://www.deviantart.com/agf81/art/Brick-Texture-6-193930952">Stock Texture</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</table><p>When Gil wakes to screaming, his body runs on autopilot. Down the hall to the opposite wing. Through the door, knocking not important.</p><p>A crimson burst of sheets stares back at him.</p>
<hr/><p>“Please describe the evening’s events,” the detective directs, his pen in hand over his spiral top notepad.</p><p>"I served them all dinner. About the usual time,” Luisa says, watching him make a few scribbles that aren’t exactly what she said. It’s like she is just supposed to speak and hope the man appropriately interprets what she is saying. Her experience tells her some of the essence will get missed, so she keeps her answers brief and to the point like she’s learned over the years working in the Milton house.</p><p>"All who?"</p><p>"Mrs. Whitly, Lieutenant Arroyo, Mr. Bright." Her gaze remains steady, her body unmoving. All of the poise that comes expected in her position.</p><p>"When?"</p><p>"Seven or so." The detail flows off the top of her head, always having a firm grasp of activities in the house.</p><p>"Then what?"</p><p>"They had cocktails. When they retired for the night, I cleaned up and headed off as well." Like she does <em>every</em> time Jessica has guests for drinks or dabbles herself.</p><p>“When did you wake?”</p><p>“Screaming. Just after midnight,” she says, keeping her eyes trained on the detective.</p><p>“Did you go investigate?”</p><p>“No — I’m used to it.” It’s one of the many things for which she looks the other way. As long as no one gets harmed, she doesn’t care. She adheres to the same principles in her own home, so it’s easy to go along with them there.</p>
<hr/><p>“Mrs. Whitly — “ the detective starts.</p><p>“Jessica,” she corrects, looking the detective in the eye with a glare that bends most folks to her will.</p><p>“Jessica, could you please share your recollection of the evening?”</p><p>“We had dinner, drinks, went to bed.” Her responses are equally as short as Luisa’s, their practice and mutual agreement showing through as if they’ve committed the crime.</p><p>“Which room?”</p><p>“My bedroom.” She rolls her eyes at the silliness of the question — where else does one go to bed?</p><p>The detective barely looks at his notepad. With such little information being conveyed, there’s no need. “Were you by yourself?” he asks.</p><p>“No, Gil was with me.” Nestled in behind her perhaps or strewn across the bed in restlessness.</p><p>“The whole night?”</p><p>“Yes, until the screaming.” She gives him a squinting glance. “You think the Lieutenant did this?” she scoffs.</p><p>“No — “</p><p>“You better not,” she tells him. Her hands on her hips aim to convey that he’s treading on thin ice.</p><p>“I just need to catalogue everyone’s whereabouts,” the detective defends. Clearly, he’s not used to dealing with Mrs. Whitly.</p><p>“How about you start with the secret entrance everyone uses to get into my <em>house</em>,” she says sharply. Pointing away from him, toward the floor, there’s only one place she wants to tell him to go.</p><p>“Mrs. Whitly — “ another detective steps in.</p><p>“Jessica.” She levels a stare at her. “Are we done?”</p>
<hr/><p>“Could you tell me what you did last night?” the detective asks.</p><p>“Didn’t have any calls from here until late, so I was out on my other fares,” Adolpho says. He’s tired but jovial, hands talking in front of him without having the wheel to hold onto, worried he might accidentally say something Jessica doesn’t want him to. What that would be, exactly, he has no idea — none of them have been up to anything and surely the biggest family secrets had been exposed years ago.</p><p>“You have other clients?”</p><p>“Not technically. She pays, but lets me offer my services to those who need it when I’m not taking her anywhere.” Did they want to know about the trips? Why? Uber fares would surely be more interesting in comparison.</p><p>“Could you get us a list?”</p><p>“I have the routes in my phone. Standard stuff.”</p><p>“What was the call from here?”</p><p>Malcolm, the poor kid. “Mr. Bright couldn’t sleep. He wanted to go down to the piers to take a walk, so I offered. Waited for him and delivered him back in one piece.” As always, when he could. He’d grown a bit of a soft spot for the guy.</p><p>“What time did you get back?”</p><p>“11:30 or so.”</p><p>“Then what?”</p><p>“Headed home for the night but turned around and came back at Mrs. Whitly’s request, so here we are.” A revolving door of the staff and family getting asked questions, none of them knowing why they were focused internally.</p>
<hr/><p>“Can I please see him? I need to see him, JT,” Gil says, pacing the floor in the guest bedroom. Everyone else is downstairs sequestered with other detectives, but JT has been staying with him, Dani just a short ways down the hall.</p><p>“A few questions, and I’ll get you to him as soon as possible,” JT promises. His dark eyes carry the weight of his responsibility.</p><p>“I need to — ” Gil starts. There’s only one place he should be right now.</p><p>“Edrisa’s clearing the room, and you can be there in just a few minutes. Did you hear anything before the scream last night?”</p><p>“No,” Gil says firmly. “I called you as soon as I found him.”</p><p>“Do you remember locking up?”</p><p>Gil twists his head back and forth, rubbing his neck at the same time. “The team does it... it’s Jessica’s house... you know…”</p><p>“It’s alright, Gil.”</p><p>“I need to see him. <em>Please</em>,” Gil begs, and all other conversation is lost to the need repeating in his brain.</p>
<hr/><p>Malcolm has been watching each staff member, each family member talk to the group of detectives. Everyone is shaken up, troubled by the late night screaming and bloodied antics in his bedroom.</p><p>Leonard is dead in the sheets. Curled up in Malcolm’s bed that Malcolm had told him he was welcome to in exchange for covering for him. Someone wanted Malcolm dead.</p><p>As far as Malcolm can tell, the assailant entered through the tunnels that lead who knows where. Time of death — unknown. Edrisa will figure it out.</p><p>“I’ll take you to him,” JT says, and Malcolm follows JT and Gil to his bedroom.</p><p>Staring up at him from the sheets is his form. He blinks and it blurs with Leonard’s. Blinks again, and it’s him. Leonard — him, Leonard — him in some sick game of peek-a-boo he can’t make any sense of.</p><p>Gil looks physically ill, has that same grimace he’s seen on every person’s face as he’s floated about the house, absorbed their thoughts.</p><p>“Gil?” Malcolm says, yet no one looks at him. JT and Gil keep staring at the form on the bed.</p><p>Leonard — Malcolm. Leonard — Malcolm. Leonard —</p><p>He’s dead.</p><p>— ◌◯◌ —</p>
<p></p><div class="note">
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  <p>“You should go home and shower,” Jessica says, rubbing Gil’s shoulder while leaning on the edge of the chair he has taken up residence in at Malcolm’s beside.</p>
  <p>“I can’t leave him,” Gil says, pressing his fingers into his face.</p>
  <p>She’s fallen asleep a few times and briefly gone home herself, so she can’t say for sure whether he’s gotten any rest. Yet if the depth of the creases in his face are any indication, he’s seen minimal at best. She draws on the commonalities he shares with her son to try to nudge him in the right direction. “You’ll want to be sharp when you talk to the team again.” At his silence, she continues, “He’s as okay as he’s going to be until he wakes his ass up.”</p>
  <p>Gil brings his hands away from his face. “He’s never slept this much. Not even when he’s been depressed.”</p>
  <p>“Someone forgot to give him the memo that you’re not supposed to scare the crap out of your family. Moderation, dear.”</p>
  <p>“I don’t think he knows the word.”</p>
  <p>She gives him a small smile and rubs his shoulder again. “Please take a break and go home, even if it’s just for a little bit. I’ll call with anything, but you know he’s just getting his beauty rest.”</p>
  <p>He looks up at her. “Can I get you anything?”</p>
  <p>“At least an hour of sleep.”</p>
  <p>“Funny.”</p>
  <p>“Go.” She kisses the top of his head. “I’ll take next shift.”</p>
  <p>Watching him walk out the sliding glass door, she takes his spot in the chair and picks up one of the magazines she has piled on the rolling table. She’s thumbed through it a half dozen times by now, but the pages continue to bring a new distraction as if they’ve never been seen at all.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading. Head back to the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588570#workskin">Bookshelf</a> to pick another book. :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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